Worse Games to Play
by Daisy and Lily
Summary: Pre-epilogue, set 5 years after "Mockingjay": Katniss and Peeta are slowly recovering from the traumatic events that devastated their lives when Gale makes himself noticeable again. Will Katniss have it in her to tie this last loose end in her life?
1. Chapter 1

"_Hope is the dandelion that flies in the wind and goes over the flames to land upon a new patch of grass._"

My hands are stretched out, seeking to grab something that is no longer there. I touch a tree, weakly at first, but then I recognize the smell and the texture and I lunge forward. My eyes aren't working, but it isn't as if I'm not used to rely on my other four senses; still, I know there should be an entrance somewhere. I try and I try and my hands are everywhere, but the wood is merciless. It mocks me. It took my bow and my arrows and it won't give them back.

Only this time I don't up give up and I fall on my knees, feeling the grass brush my bare legs. It makes sense, I think, since the hideout isn't in the tree, maybe it fell too and I just need to find it. Only that while I'm searching the grass my ears pick up a familiar cry and my arms paralyze on the spot. The mutts. There is only so much I can think before I hear them approaching in full speed and I climb the tree, holding on to it for dear life. But they're here already, they're here and they're at my heels, and I can't find other branches to climb to and one of the mutts snaps in two the branch I was standing on and I fall, fall, fall to their starving open mouths…

There is a jolt of electricity coursing through my body as I sit down and place my right hand over my heart to keep it from beating any faster. I don't scream: nightmares these days seem unable to make me scream, plus I am not interested in waking up Peeta when he himself doesn't get many good nights like he seems to be having this week… it's too late though, he's awake already, probably because I turned around the sheets too much or made some kind of noise. And even though I have these nightmares every other night, even though they lurk and linger and fester as if they've become a third occupant of this big house, it still isn't enough for the man named Peeta Mellark to stop caring and go back to sleep; it still isn't enough for him not to hold me in his arms, to not groom my hair behind my ears and to not plant little kisses on my temples, on the corners of my eyes, on my jaw line.

Once again, the boy with the bread takes care of the girl who was set on fire to burn until all that was left of her were broken fragments and charred remains.

It's been almost five years since we moved back to what's left of District Twelve, but the painful memories of the Games, of the War, of losing Prim still remain as fresh as they've ever been. Peeta also suffers everyday because he lost his entire family, but somehow he still puts my pain before his own everytime.

"Go back to sleep", I tell him, "It's okay now, I'm awake and I'm okay."

And still he doesn't stop. He knows I'm not okay. How could I ever be? But he remains silent and lays back, pulling me down with him. He keeps his arm around me and softly kisses my forehead until I fall asleep again. No nightmares this time around.

You see, five years ago, it wouldn't be quite like this. I would go back to sleep, yes, but not as eagerly as I go now, and that gives me hope. It makes me think that, even though the pain is still fresh, there are some things that have changed.

They say time makes you forget, heals all your wounds, but what really does that is doing something, anything. At first you just do, and then you feel. Then you start feeling good, better, and you do things better too; better than you thought you could manage, anyway. Peeta bakes and paints; I hunt and stare. I was getting really good at staring, mostly at whatever Peeta was doing at the moment or engaging in a staring contest with Buttercup just for the sake of it, but there are times when I feel something else emerging, something other than the pain and that other feeling that has become grounded and steady and is the most real thing I have going on my life. It's that something else that makes me want to do a bit more everyday: cook a rabbit stew, tie a pretty ribbon around my hair, pull Peeta's hand so we can go lie down and watch the stars on our courtyard. These are the little things I am working hard to treasure and to protect, to yearn for and to guide me through difficult times.

It is during one of those precious moments, one where Peeta went to get the mail in the morning but not without leaving me with a scrumptious breakfast of bread, jam, butter and milk that he returns with a letter in his hands and I know without needing to hear what this is going to be about. The look on his face says it all. I hadn't seen it on him for five years, but I still remember it.

"It's a letter from District Two", he says coldly. He's suddenly acting this way because that letter is obviously from Gale. I had managed to put him in the back drawers of my mind, managed to almost never think of him for two reasons: because I had bigger fish to fry - pain-wise -, and because Peeta has made me feel so happy and so complete that I never had the need to stop and wonder if I had made the right choice. The only times I think of him are when I'm hunting all alone. But I refuse to miss him, because what he did to Prim was unforgivable.

I open the letter and read it out loud:

_"Dear Katniss,_

_I know it's been long, too long. I've often thought about you and how you're faring. I hope all is well with you and Peeta._

_The reason why I'm writing to you is to tell that I've been invited to become a Minister for the government. People are insisting that the Mockingjay and her husband should be present to represent District Twelve in the ceremonies. It would mean the world to me if you would come. Please let me know._

_Love,_

_Gale"_

One thing stands out to me in that letter and my eyes keep returning to those words: "it would mean the world to me". Mean the world… what does that mean to him, I wonder, mean the world? What is he trying to really say? I know that, even though we are under a new government, there are still excellent chances that all our correspondence is being surveilled, and this letter doesn't look like who-used-to-be-my-friend Gale wrote it, but more like a businessman/politic version of him. Suddenly a wave of many mixed emotions makes its way around my head: I revel in outrage, anger, sorrow, and there's a bit of sadness, too. I must have made a weird face because Peeta is already by my side, squeezing the hand that is not busy crunching the paper. I stop before I go any further, though; after all it's just harmless paper, it's not really its fault.

The letter is accompanied by two invitations to a ceremony, asking in small letters for a formal dress code. I put all the papers away, take deep breaths like Dr. Aurelius has taught me to do when things become too much and carefully choose my next words so as not to break me in the process of speaking.


	2. Chapter 2

First comes politeness.

"Thank you for bringing the mail, Peeta" I force, attempting a smile.

Then, there is only one thing I can do that will help in this situation: win me out some extra time.

"I need to think this through for a bit. Think you can wait a little longer before we talk about this?"

His answer comes quickly, instantaneous. Being good with words does you that, I suppose.

"Of course. Listen, I'm going to finish that painting I have been going on for the past three weeks. I'm in the porch if you need me, alright?"

Ever the considerate gentleman, my husband. Giving me some space because he knows I need to be alone but at the same time letting me know he's there for me. Sometimes all I feel like is to raise my arms to the skies and ask what have I done to deserve a man like this. It's not like I searched a lot, is it? More like tried to keep what I barely managed to found deeply concealed in those twisted roots of my heart.

"Yes, sure. I'm just going to stay here for a while." I can see I surprised him with that, but truth is I don't feel like going hunting today. If I'm gaining some extra time, I might as well spend it with the one thing that makes me move the least among all the things I could possibly do.

Staring.

Peeta's out the door as he promised to, but not without realizing my intent and bringing me a blanket and some hot beverage; it is supposed to be cold today, at this time of the year, but I don't know. I don't feel much cold.

I sigh, losing myself in the comfort of the blanket, pressing it closer to my body. Being like this, doing what I'm doing, is a luxury that I couldn't afford back then. Back in the days, taking a little more time than what you absolutely needed meant a deer that became aware of you and escaped, a bird that flew away before you could shoot. Taking extra time meant an empty game bag, it meant starvation, it meant my quest for survival and feeding my family becoming a lot harder. So how ironic is it that in order for me to survive right now I have to claim that for myself: a little more time. It seems like I'm asking it from everyone these days: "just wait", I plead to them silently, "please wait and let me think, let me try and figure everything out." I know there will be a time when either everyone will get tired of waiting or I myself will be lost in all this extra time and won't be able to emerge with what people need. With what I need.

The letter is still on my lap, so I grab it and look at it some more. "People are insisting", he writes. I owe them nothing, I think, let alone to him. Why should I do him any favors when he

did me none? Do I really even need to think about this? Shouldn't my decision have been made on the spot? Why I am hesitating, then? Why I am thinking that maybe, just maybe, I should just go and break all my ties with waiting, letting myself get immersed in the turmoil as I once was?

Maybe I am indeed fed up with waiting like I was fed up with doing things back then. And if I am to feel more than an empty shell, if I am to rise above the ashes and make myself be me again, this might just be what I need.

And then I find myself leaning into the letter and it smells like gunpowder and explosives and blood and I mashing it into a ball and throw it away, and this time I really blame the paper.

I can't possibly think I can go and survive in one piece. It will be like walking into a trap, and who better than my ex-best friend to set it? He always had the best snares.

It was his mind that devised the way to take Prim from the living. It was his mouth that proclaimed killing people was no different than killing animals.

I need to breathe again. Slowly, deeply, placing my hand on my chest, feeling it move in and move out, again and again. I consider the hot beverage for a moment but I am too nauseous to try it. I put it on the table; maybe Peeta will want it when he comes for one of his breaks. Yet until the time I close my eyes and trust all my worries to sleep he hasn't shown up yet.

Time. He lets me have as much as I want.

It's not until the end of that day that Peeta cautiously addresses this subject again. "I think we should go." he says, "It would help us to finally get closure."

"But I don't know if I can handle him!" I snap at him. Then I start shivering and it takes me a while to realize tears are streaming down my face. "He killed my little sister. He killed Prim! I know it, you know it, but I'm not sure if he knows it since he had the nerve of sending these invitations!"

Peeta doesn't seem to mind that I yelled at him through no fault of his own. He simply takes my hand and reassures me with a short sentence "Then we'll go there and we'll make sure he knows it."

This is all the convincing I need.

The next day I head to Haymitch's to see if he got an invitation too. I walk in to a dirty house, although not as dirty as it once was. Haymitch has been trying to get rid of his addiction over these last few years, but only with moderate success. This morning he looks hungover, but not excessively so. I tell him the entire story and he answers right after I finish. "You go ahead and do what you have to do, sweetheart. But have you thought about how your hubby will feel over your little reunion?"

"What do you mean?"

He answers promptly with a little grin on his face. "I mean that, if I were Lover Boy, I wouldn't be able to help but be afraid that this could lead to rekindled emotions."

I hadn't thought about that. I was so concerned over my own feelings that it didn't even cross my mind that Peeta could be worried about that. If the tables were turned, if this was another girl from his previous life that meant a lot to him asking to meet again after all these years, I'm pretty sure he would have reassured me a hundred times that I was the only girl for him. But I'm not Peeta, nor am I good dealing with emotions or words. So I just say to Haymitch "Don't be stupid. So, did you get an invitation or not?"

"Nope. Guess I'm not important enough for fancy-pantsy Capitol anymore", he replies with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Trying to make him feel a little bit better, I look at him with my nose held high and I fake a Capitol accent. "Nonsense dear, they just want us pretty people there. You know, for the cameras!" This act gets a little smile from him, so I feel I can go back home and think harder on the subject Haymitch has brought up.

As I step into the porch, I see Peeta is there, painting. It's not the same one he had been working on for three weeks. It's a new project. "What are you painting this time?" I ask while I climb the stairs. He jumps as he hears my voice.

"Oh… Nothing special", he replies, looking a bit preoccupied.

I smile and say "Come on, you know that your paintings could never be 'nothing special'. What is it?" I take a sneak peek at it and I see a careless picture. It almost looks like an abstract painting, but as I look more closely I recognize the scene. It's the Capitol, in front of President Snow's mansion. Bloody children lying on the ground everywhere. Everything is darkness and red, except for one little blonde figure dressed in white, light emanating from her every pore. Her back is facing the observer, and you can see a little duck tail emerging from the top of her skirt.

Peeta wasn't there. But he heard me describe my nightmares enough times to be able to paint this scene this faithfully. So many sleepless nights I woke up screaming and crying because I saw Prim getting blown up to pieces time after time in my dreams. My heart feels like it's stone cold and crashing into tiny pieces at the same time. "Why are you painting this?"

"I… I had to. All of this, Gale making an appearance again, digging up all these memories. You, sitting for hours to no end, wrapped up in a blanket and staring at nothing. I had to let go! This is how I let go." His voice shakes while he says this, and his eyes keep getting bigger and bigger.

I feel that now is my time of being comprehensive and supportive. I guess a little bit of Peeta's kindness and empathy has rubbed off on me after all this time. I softly put my hand on his cheek and whisper "It's okay…" His eyes slowly raise to meet mine, and he looks more fragile than ever. He was always so concerned about being strong for my sake that he never allowed himself a little bit of frailty. "If you want to, we can just ignore the invitation. We'll just stay here."

"No", he says, "We are going. It's high time we put this whole story to rest."


	3. Chapter 3

And I thought there was no such thing as being too prepared, too knowledgeable.

Having decided with Peeta that going to the Capitol will ultimately prove more beneficial than detrimental, there is a new sense of purpose in me as I grab those wretched invitations. There is a phone number in them.

"We're supposed to 'RSVP' by calling", I say, barely unable to restrain the will to use my fake Capitol accent again. Apparently, my voice thinks I might as well take the whole thing with a pinch of humor.

"Do you want me to do that?" asks Peeta.

"No, I can do it." If I am to start doing things, I'd rather do them right now.

"The ceremony's going to be in four days. Will you be writing to Gale too, to let him know you're going? He says so in the letter." By now I'm a lot better noticing Peeta's emotions, so it's a relief to conclude there's little jealousy or insecurity coming from him. For now, at least, Haymitch's warning is invalid.

"No. I won't write him back. I'm sure whoever's behind the phone will tell him right away, so there's no use to." Besides, he didn't have that decency with me, to let me know they ended up using his ideas and plans to build weapons that…

No, no. Go away, thoughts of mine; you add nothing and take away everything from me. I shake my head just a bit to keep my cool.

It's amazing that that phone isn't covered in a thick layer of dust considering the use I give it - Dr. Aurelius doesn't call so often now, which probably means to his eyes we are practically recovered -, but I suppose Peeta takes care of cleaning it every now and then. I always forget that the thing exists until it's ringing loud and clear throughout the house. I dial the numbers carefully, and, just as slowly, Peeta wraps his arms around me, nesting his head in the crease of my neck. I intertwine my fingers with his while the other hand is holding the phone and we will stay like this until the conversation is over and maybe some more.

They don't take too long to answer.

"Hello, this is the Secretary of the Ministry, how can I help you?" It's a cheery female voice, professional and automatic, the kind of voice I could never hope to have in any occasion and frankly feels intimidating to me.

"H-hello. I want to confirm my presence for the Minister Nomination Ceremony. Please."

"Alright then, I just need your name and… oh", the voice changes to a far more spontaneous rhythm as there was a brief pause, "Is this Miss Everdeen I am speaking to?"

"Yes." So they do have my number registered; maybe they always know when I'm using the phone or even what I say in it. It's a good thing that I never say much or use it at all.

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Everdeen! Thank you for accepting our invitation, we've been trying get in contact with you for a long time." She pauses as if expecting me to say something, which I don't, so she keeps going. "So, um, is Mr. Mellark coming as well?"

"Yes." He's hearing the conversation too, squeezes my mind in this part, as if saying 'Wouldn't miss it for the world.'

"Two confirmations it is", she says as I hear some frantic noises across the line. "And do you have any special requests, Miss Everdeen? We will be sending a special train tomorrow to come pick you up and Mr. Mellark and we are fully capable of accommodating to all your needs."

"Lamb stew with dried plums" I answer quickly, which manages to get a smile from Peeta. "And… Haymitch comes too. That is my condition to go."

"Katniss?" whispers Peeta to my ear, and I know what he means. Are you even sure he wants to come? I don't, not for sure, but I do have a feeling I may need him at some point, so it's best to bring him along too. And I'm sure there are equally if not more capable people volunteering to take care of his flock of geese while he's gone.

"Certainly", she answers cheerfully, "Mr. Hawthorne will be pleased with his presence". Her tone is too happy; trying to disguise the fact that having a half-drunk man with no social skills whatsoever going to a formal event was actually a big nuisance. Still, I don't think Haymitch is all that bad. He did do a pretty good job getting us sponsors in the Hunger Games.

After all is arranged, I go back to Haymitch's house and I find him sitting in the chair where he always sits. "Pack your bags, you're coming with us" I tell him, trying to be as joyful as I can.

He grouches."Where? That celebration over at the Capitol? Have you even looked at me?"

"You'll have plenty of time to pamper yourself on the train ride there, tomorrow. Come on, I'll help you do the packing!"

"Well, you sure are excited to go… What's the deal with that?" he asks suspiciously.

I tone down my fake enthusiasm: "Nothing. It's just been a long time since I last left Twelve… And think about it, Effie is probably going to be there. It would be nice to see her again, don't you think?"

Haymitch smiles in an almost imperceptible way. "Yes, I suppose. She was alright."

"There you go. Let's go pack, then."

We head for his bedroom. I had never been there, but it looks very neat. I guess that Haymitch sleeps mostly on the couch. He gets a big trunk from under his bed and leads me to the walking closet by the bathroom. This room is not that neat anymore. He starts grabbing everything off of the floor and shoving it in the trunk. I stop him, telling him that we're only going for a few days and that we might as well take only the clean clothes. This leads to the unfortunate job of having to smell shirts to distinguish which ones are washed and which ones go to the laundry bag, something which I had not anticipated and try to get to get over with as quickly as possible.

I must be making some weird facial expressions because soon enough Haymitch is right next to me. "Gotten softer with time, sweetheart?" he asks. I don't bother to answer him, because if I did it would be something in the lines of finding your own maid. So I just tell him to do the rest of the packing alone and I make my way back home, wanting to run but not doing it because I feel I couldn't take it. I walk inside and, even though I didn't run, I still have to lean onto the counter as a coughing attack takes over. This surprises me, and unfortunately it surprises Peeta as well, who was near hearing range and comes towards me. I avoid his look, am pretty sure nothing is wrong with me. Well, except the obvious that has lingered for the past years.

"I'm taking you to the doctor", he says vehemently. "You're not travelling like this."

"It's just coughing, Peeta", I reply.

"Even so", he insists, "both of us should be in peak state if we're going to the Capitol. Even if it's only for a ceremony."

It's just like before the Quarter Quell, when he assumed the roles of personal trainer and personal caretaker. In all honesty, I appreciate his concern, so I give in after a short moment.

"Fine."

He's probably right, too, I think while we're heading to the health center. I can detect sickness a mile away, have learned to feel it in my bones way before I show any signs of serious symptoms, although I rarely get sick anyway; however, if I'm to have some sort of cold,

it's best to take it down in Twelve while I still can than having it on the Capitol. I need no other fears, have no use for more displays of weaknesses.

The health center is as new as everything else around here. Obviously it is nowhere near the size of the hospitals in other districts or the Capitol or has as much doctors and workers to operate, but it is fully functional and our people are few but strong. Peeta and I enter holding hands - something good that time gave us - and I request one appointment, given that Peeta had already had his own appointment a few days ago. We're lucky to get it right away, either because it's a slow day or because there are still people who think they owe us something.

"Go home", I tell him, I tell my husband, "go ahead and make us some dinner. I won't take too long, and then we can eat together."

"See you in a while then" says Peeta, knowing better than to disagree with me. I return his smile and his kiss, he leaves and it doesn't take too long before my name is called.

"Katniss Everdeen? You can come in now" says someone I know very well, even if I don't see her often. She's a young doctor, a few years older than me, and what I like about her is that her smiles are encouraging but don't come too frequently. What I don't like about her is that I need to keep constantly on my toes out of concern she reports to my mother.

"Good afternoon Katniss. Please have a seat. Tell me, what brings you here?" She is direct, quick to the point, unwilling to waste time. I admire that in healers.

"A cough." I feel silly saying that, so I try again, "I had a coughing attack today and I'm travelling tomorrow, so Peeta and I thought I should come here, see if I'm good to travel."

"I see", she answers. "Look Katniss, I have written here that you haven't come for a consult in over a year. Is it ok if we do a full physical exam?"

"If you think it's necessary" I reply, shrugging. I strip of my clothes and lay on the table as instructed and allow myself to think I'm somewhere else as she touches me here and there and asks me those routine questions I haven't heard over a year, true, but are stuck in my head all the same.

"How have you been feeling? Are you hurt anywhere? Have you been eating well? How is your monthly cycle? How is your eyesight? Has Dr. Aurelius prescribed you with more medication?"

"Good. No. Yes" - Peeta would beg to differ on this one - "Irregular as always. Great. No."

Then she turns away from me for a moment, pushes something from a corner of her office which I can't see that well because I'm still lying down.

"I'm going to use this on you, alright? Just relax, it won't hurt."

It's some sort of a Capitol contraption, one I've never seen before, I note as she battles with the long wires and buttons. There is a moment of anticipation as I try not to think too hard about it, try not to recoil in defense or guess what it's for.

And then when she grabs an object the size of our phone and rubs it on my belly and I stop thinking completely.

I don't want to hear it. "Please, don't" I beg as I've begged countless times to countless people, but she is deaf to my inner voice, says it before I can shut my ears and pretend not to hear.

"It seems you're pregnant, Katniss. Two months, from what I'm able to tell. I can already see something, but you'll have to wait another month at least before we can see your baby better."

The rest of the consult goes by in a daze. I am a machine as I nod my head when required, say "yes" when the doctor stops talking or asks me if I'm listening to her, murmur a "thank you" when she handles me a bag of vitamins I'm supposed to take everyday starting now.

It's when I'm almost outside the doctor's office that my first useful thought makes its appearance and I turn to the doctor, staring at her right in the eyes.

"What happens here is confidential, right?"

To her merit, she doesn't flinch for a second.

"Absolutely, Katniss. I'm sure you've already heard about doctor-patient confidentiality and that applies to this situation as well. No need to worry about that."

My chest becomes a little less heavy after hearing that; still my walk home is slow, as if I need to order my feet to move again and again, and again and again.

I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant. I say it three times in my head, let it sink and soak and simmer, see how it adjusts to me. I shudder, it's only a two-minute walk to home now and my steps are becoming more uncertain by the second.

It's not as if it's a complete surprise, an impossibility. In fact, it was four months ago that the unthinkable on my mind, that high, sturdy barrier turned into a "what if" followed by a "we'll see what happens". I could always tell, when we were talking, how Peeta fervently wished for kids, how strong his desire was to have a little us running around; I could see it in his carefully crafted words, as not to bother or infuriate me, in his gestures that appeased me, rationalized with me and ultimately convinced me to put aside my birth control methods. There was no pressure, he told me, and yet every other week we were anxious, became familiar with a multitude of pregnancy tests. Apparently my body was even more stubborn than my mind, refusing to let itself getting impregnated so, gradually, we stopped with the testing and the checking.

But I never went back to my birth control methods.

"Peeta", I call. I'm inside the kitchen and it smells so good, of freshly-baked bread, roasted meat and baked potatoes, that I just want to dive in whatever he's cooking. My stomach growls very audibly across the room, making itself noticeable again, as if to remember me.

Like I could forget.

"Shut it", I tell it.

"Katniss? What did the doctor say?" He comes from the pantry carrying some fruit and vegetables and my heart sinks to the ground. What now? How can I tell him?

I decide, for once, that I'll talk to Peeta like he deserves. I'll give it to him straight.

"Peeta", the words get strangled in my mouth, no matter, I just push them outwards, "Peeta, I'm pregnant - ".

I have just a tiny vision of his first reaction as my body decides to take over again and throws itself at him, his fruits and vegetables falling all across the kitchen floor. My hands are grabbing the front of his shirt, my head is pressed to his chest and I start hearing these guttural sounds and feeling that my fingers are getting wet, wondering why is Peeta sobbing and crying but after a while I realize, of course, it's all me.

He stands very still at first. Then, carefully, I sense him placing his arms around me, his head coming closer to mine too, until I hear what I think it's his voice but turned into something far more fragile and rough.

"Pregnant?"

It's just this one word, but it seems to float in the air for hours and hours until I process it. It's one thing me saying it three times on my mind, it's another thing me telling it to him out loud, and it's another completely different thing he saying it back at me and in that tone. I nod, my eyes firmly shut, forehead still clung to the fabric of his shirt.

He doesn't say anything, and I don't need him to because I can guess, from the gradual strength his arms imprint to my body to the way his chest rises and falls faster and faster that he has a smile on his face that is as radiant as the sun and all the other stars and shiny things put together.

"Damn you", I whisper softly to his neck, hitting him lightly with one of my fisted hands. He lets out a little chuckle, grabs my hand swiftly and kisses its back, tips my chin up and makes me open my eyes.

It is as I've expected, except it turns out he's crying as well, so we touch foreheads and breathe each one's hopes, dreams and fears for a while.

"You were never good with words" he says after a while, sitting on a chair and bringing me down to sit on his lap. I start imagining how it would be if we were in reversed roles, what would he say if he was the one who was pregnant, and that's no good because it brings a smile to my face for half a second and Peeta notices and just that smile makes him go full grin mode, makes him do a little dance where he catches my hands and has me dance with him too.

Nothing changed, on a first glance; yet in our lives, once filled with lies and make beliefs, there is this one more thing that has transformed from not real into something very, very real.

* * *

_**Authors' note:**__ Hello everyone! This chapter was an absolutely pleasure to write and I hope you like it as well! I would like to say, thank you so much for the kind messages we've been getting; even alerts are very important because they let us know you want to read more and that's the whole purpose of publishing this story on fanfiction: to have you readers follow our work. So thank you, once again, and by all means keep commenting, keep reading!_


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